You Used To Be So Big
by Doitsu
Summary: July 4, 1776. America declares his independence. In mind and body, he has become strong enough to challenge his former guardian. However, his heart is not as free of England as it should be. USxUK


The rain was falling heavily now that the men had arranged themselves in rows and rows of disciplined strength and held-back violence. America stood at their head, tall and proud, looking uncompromising to anyone but England, who also saw miserable longing. However, determination of equal measure was present in his gaze.

England was feeling so many emotions that it was hard for him to keep his gun level and aimed at America. His hands were most certainly not shaking and he quite surely not crying because the rivulets running down his face were as salty as his tea. Of course he wasn't crying. No, he was disappointed, and maybe he also felt betrayal, sadness, fear, loss and perhaps, perhaps he also felt a tiny bit of lust, a want for America that was easy to ignore, really. As easy to ignore as if someone offered him a scone.

America had grown to be taller than England, something England found inappropriate and not fair at all. America was his colony, he had no business being taller and stronger, and... damn, maybe he wouldn't be a colony much longer. His arms trembled as they held the weapon were it was.

''Why are you leaving me?'' He called out, and again, his voice was not breaking, not at all.

America looked at him with those sky-blue eyes, the ones he used to know so well. Now, they looked different, darker, with unknown depths. England was afraid of these depths. Silence reigned.

Again, England called out. ''Answer me!'' He hoped the agony that was tearing him apart was not easily visible to America. He couldn't show weakness now.

America only gazed at him with those unfathomable eyes of his.

Furious sadness overwhelming him, England lurched forward, running at America with his bayonet ready to strike. If he would have been able to actually stab America, he would never find out, because America blocked his attack with a surprised twist of his own bayonet.

A loud, ringing sound seemed to fill both their worlds for an eternity as England's bayonet hit America's with such force that a long scratch on the latter's was created.

Finally, America's eyes expressed emotion again, but it was an emotion that England hated to see, and which he hated to be the cause of. America's widened eyes looked down at him in pained surprise, betrayal and disbelief.

They stayed in their positions, not moving, for what seemed to be endless seconds, filled to the brim with pain and regrets unspoken.

Suddenly, England's legs gave out underneath him, and he fell to his knees in front of America, who stood even taller now. America flinched, but could not avert his gaze from the blonde nation at his feet. He seemed transfixed, lost in a memory that England could not share.

Slowly, America shook his head, a look of something almost nostalgic entering his sad blue eyes. His voice sounded vulnerable and still, as regretful and mature as if it were millenia old.

''You used to be... so big...''

England raised his eyes to meet his former colony's blue gaze. The moment lasted another eternity. Then, England found his voice.

''Please, let us... talk about this.'' He didn't sound pleading, no, no he could not be pleading, begging.

America shook his head slowly. ''No, I have made up my mind, England. This is it. I will not be giving up until I have my full independence. I will keep fighting you, fighting you until you acknowledge me, see me for the nation I truly am.''

England could feel a scream building up in him, a scream of denial and primal pain. The mud was slowly seeping through the fabric of his white trousers and his knees felt cold.

He lifted his head weakly. ''Please... take me home?''

America nodded curtly and stooped down to gather the smaller nation up in his arms. England shivered. He admitted to himself that maybe he was crying because the rain had stopped and his face remained wet, drops running down his face.

It felt so right to be in America's arms and for a second, England pretended they were just on their way home and that America would stay with him. But as he saw the set jaw and the determined glint in those blue eyes, he knew this was not the submissive colony that had been his. However, he could see the pain behind those steely eyes, the yearning for something England didn't fully understand.

England's house was within sight and when England fumbled with his keys, trembling too strongly to be able to open the door, America silently took them from him, inserted the key and opened the door, in that very instant meeting his eyes.

It felt like the last good bye, the last time they would see each other like this, before everything would change and distance would grow between them like a bad weed in England's garden. England's heart clenched.

All their opportunities, what they could have been, could have done passed in front of his mind's eye and from the look on America's face, England could tell that he had the same thoughts.

Their eye contact stayed unbroken and America's eyes suddenly changed. A break in the determination, maybe, or at least it looked like a crack in the ice, announcing a glacier breaking apart, opening to reveal the earth beneath. The crack widened and America's eyes were focused on England with an intensity that England felt unable to move.

A fluid movement and England was roughly pushed up against the wall of the corridor, a second later, being kissed by America with a hunger and fervour unparalleled.

America's presence smothered him, overtook him, claimed him as he felt his arms being held in a firm grip by the taller nation.

America's mouth left his for a second and fierce blue eyes met his in a challenge, awaiting a fight of a whole different kind.

''England...!'' America gasped out in between panting breaths.

England couldn't respond, as his lips were taken again by the stronger nation. Another time, America moved back to capture his green eyes with his own, as if to make sure England listened to what he wanted to say.

''England... I will claim you, I will take you, until you are no more and we are one...'' His mouth descended on England's with bruising force, as he took England's shoulders and pushed him, stumbling, sometimes fighting, sometimes giving in, to the stairs, up each step, England standing a bit taller for a few moments, until they reached the landing, and America towered over him again, roaming hands moving to his blonde hair, entangling themselves and steadily pushing England back and back, into his room, onto the double bed.

England struggled, but he was weak and God, he wanted this, he knew he did, he had denied himself many years, and perhaps America felt the same. His red jacket and shirt was off, and England could feel his trembling hands, which were shaking for a whole different reason now, moving to remove America's blue jacket and working on the buttons of the white shirt he wore underneath.

And when they were both unclad, America roughly pushed him down onto his bed, claimed his lips and his mouth, then moved down, down, placing a harsh kiss on England's cock and moved his fingers to his mouth, covering them with his saliva as England looked up at him, breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded. When he stretched him, America smiled a smile somewhere between tenderness and fierce, dominating delight and when he entered England, it was with a look of triumph and an apologetic kiss that he watched the smaller nation squirm as he adjusted.

Looking down on England, America's eyes widened as though in realisation and when England finally nodded at America to continue, America leaned down, blue eyes swirling with emotion and seeming so vulnerable all of a sudden. Hesitant words, softly spoken and halting.

''I think I've fallen in love you...''

His kisses were winter winds roaming the land, his hands the shifting masses of earth. The smile he gave told of coming spring days, his gaze as hot as a summer's drought. Moving over England, America was earthquakes and hurricanes, powerful and devastating, taking him with the might of a force of nature. America was breathing faster, and the air around them was churning in formless whirlpools, responding to the power of their union. England had only a split second to wonder at the sight because America moved in a new way, the intensity of his thrusts ever increasing and becoming more precise, focused, on that spot, oh God, yes, that spot. Faintly, England could hear himself moaning, speaking strung-together sentences of senseless sweetness. He could feel him, yes, right there, as America moved within him, and, oh yes, the pressure on his body, the weight, God, the weight of America's larger body as he pushed him down, down and down again, the pressure on his chest, his hips, his uuunnngh... oh yes that spot! And he was pressed against the mattress, into it, with America's movements; America loved him, loved him; feeling the heat building inside, a tidal wave that refused to break, refused to break, and grew in size, magnitude, until it encompassed his entire being, swallowing him whole and consuming him before it broke, at first slowly curling at the top, announcing the mighty force of its breaking, rolling power.

America yelled something, England wasn't sure what it was and it didn't matter, because a liquid warmth filled him and he couldn't distinguish between his mind and his body, because he could feel America coming and the tidal wave in his mind, in his body, exploding outward, drowning him for a moment in sweetest, oblivious bliss, washing away his thoughts, his mind, his entire being into the current. The water was ebbing, the pleasure England was feeling travelling through his exhausted body in languid waves, short bursts of sated warmth moving through him until the warmth was all that filled his mind.

The feeling of languidly powerful arms wrapping around his chest and pulling him close with marvellous possessiveness, returned his mind to him and England felt the warmth of his long-awaited union with America spreading, spreading through them until America softly touched his chin, tilted it up and placed one lingering, meaningful kiss on England's ravished lips. And in the fleeting moment of wakefulness before falling into the sweet embrace of sleep, England could have sworn America was whispering in his ear.

''I surrender...''


End file.
